


Going, going, going. . . gone

by TFALokiwriter



Category: Tremors: Shrieker Island (2020), Tremors: The Series
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFALokiwriter/pseuds/TFALokiwriter
Summary: Travis is in Mexican Prison, all is well, serving his sentence until all is not. It's the day after and he finds the news out.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Going, going, going. . . gone

“Are you the son of Senor Gummer?” came the loud question that nobody had asked until today. 

Travis looked up from his Mexican issued magazine. 

“Si.” Travis looked toward the two guards who were staring at him. “Pretty old, living on some island, just for a sewer system.” 

Their eyes flashed open. 

“You were not kidding about hunting the serpents, Senor Welker."

Travis shook his head.

“Not at all.” Travis said. "Their insides stink to high heavens! If you had to go in, you would never come out--you don't strike me as the kind bold enough to do that kind of spelunking."

The men grimaced looking toward each other.

"That, we are not." That was the unexpected agreement from both officers instead of a retort arguing against his assumption. “Do not get into trouble.”

“Doing really well here." Travis waved back at them then grinned. "Next three years will be a breeze!”

The officers left and Travis had a strange feeling something was stirring outside the Mexican jail. It was a gut feeling not exactly the feeling that he could experience beneath his feet. It came only from the alarm of a question being posed by Mexican officers who barely asked him things other than for what he were willing to trade for specific outside food or novels or items. Whatever it were, his pops would take care of that and Travis would continue to pay out traveling the border with mushrooms. 

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Travis was jerked awake by a loud bang against the bars. He bolted half way up then came to a pause spotting a older man, Mexican, in a faded yellow suit standing in front of the doorway flanked by Mexican officers. He had pure white hair, his features marked by wrinkles and recession of hair.

"Uh. . ." Travis leaned up, his vision adjusted after a few moments, staring at the doorway. "buenas noches?"

"Buenos Dias, senior Welker." The door swung open with a creak. "You may have heard of me, I am senor Carlos Ortega."

"Never heard of you." Travis said, picking up a new magazine, then flipped through it. "Meh, must be serious." Ortega's eyes remained on the younger man. "Pops must be going up the wall over here."

Ortega was quiet for a solid moment before replying.

"That was part of the deal with your father when he came over from the states; that his involvement be with the military instead of the business." Ortega replied. "I didn't need to be associated publically with a survivalist."

Travis laughed to himself.

"Wrong move."

"This man had only a record of killing one of the creatures." Ortega reminded. "He survived the initial event."

"Just like he always does. He just can't die. No matter how people die and leave behind their ugly worms with their ugly new mouths." Travis began to giggle. "Have you seen the artwork?" he looked up. "How insanely inappropriate it is?"

Ortega only grimaced.

"Might have hurt my business to associate with a American, business wise. . ."

Travis giggled, only louder, struggling to stifle it back. 

"However, it did prove to be the worst mistake as I was unable to benifet from the worm park launched by his friends." Ortega finished.

Travis smacked his knee as his giggles became laughter that subsided.

"Good old pops for you." Travis set on the edge of the bed. "Uh, got a worm problem?"

"Your father, senior Gummer, he helped Mexico reclaim a prized oil field." Ortega said. "This is a over due favor for him."

"He never spoke of a favor."

"Then again, he never mentioned of having a son."

"Pops didn't know I existed. She never told him." Ortega nodded, understandingly, but pitying the younger man's story. "They never talked after the one night stand. Far right wing man and far left wing got together and just drifted away like spiders to the wind."

"They mate only once and give away all that they have to their off spring." Ortega said. "They had no purpose with each other and had other lives like those of spiders."

Travis nodded in agreement.

"Sometimes, I think I feel like he missed out on raising a kid. . ." he had a small shrug with how things played out. "That could just be me projecting on him, though."

"You have a flight to Nevada waiting for you." The door creaked open and a officer set aside the clothing. "If you don't get changed and get out, the favor is off."

Travis stared at Ortega.

"Now there's a infestation back home?" Travis got up to his feet, concerned, but quite bewildered. "How did that happen while he was away?"

"That is not for me to ask." Ortega withdrew from the entrance.

"Can I have my bike?"

"No." Ortega said. "Hurry."

Ortega walked down the corridor so Travis changed out of his prison uniform then into his black themed outfit and walked out. Travis was guided to his flight by two officers; _just who is so desperate enough to pay off the Mexican Justice System from America to have someone who trusts the most picking up where Pops left off?_ The question was enough to stew over over.

* * *

It was a three hour private flight to Nevada then quite some time on a rented motorcycle back to Perfection. The town was small and still nestled within a mountain range with buildings that weren't there before popping up with most of the lights dimmed except for one building that Burt lived and worked in. Travis tore past the Graboid road sign as he flew under the cover of night that was getting brighter by each passing minute.

The motorcycle came to a pause in front of Chang's Market then put into park mode. He stepped off, then waited for the sign of Graboids to appear but none of that did. It seemed quite off even with the fire-arms that had been returned to him by the Mexican government before leaving for Nevada in the middle of a pandemic. The silence felt strange even after all this time becoming used to it living in Perfection when he hadn't gone out to de-stress.

Travis slipped off his helmet, set it down on to the handle, then began to make his way up toward the wooden platform, went through the ajar door, and spotted the replica of his father from almost thirty years ago donned in uniform with his AK-47, strong, youthful, but just as good as he were then with his stubborn characteristic set in motion against what the Graboid Life Cycle had to throw at him.

There was a bunch of people in the room, gathered in front of the bar, some people that he had never seen before up until today. He recognized his mother among the group that featured some women with blonde hair among the men with darker hair or graying hair. Their attention shifted toward him once the bell had rung and the door had closed behind him -- there was bottles on the table -- half empty -- with one full bottle left across from them that was opened but no one was drinking it. 

"Travis?" Doctor Jasmine Welker looked toward him, surprised, shocked, just to see Travis back.

"Mom, where is Pops?" A question that Travis had asked once and she could answer it but now, she couldn't.

There were two older men with gray in their eyes, in their faces, and hair that exchanged a glance then proceeded to play rock paper scissors.

"Damn it, Earl why can't I win?" Val asked. 

"Because you're too dumb to realize I always win, Val." Earl replied, grinning smugly. 

"Earl, Val, wait. . ." It clicked in his head as his mind recognized the faces of the older men matching them up with newspaper clippings. "you're the two men who worked with my pops once!"

"All of us did at one point." Jodi said as the younger man beside Earl snickered, sliding forth a can, less younger but only nineteen years older appearing fond of his time with Burt and took another can that was stashed in the center of the table. "Saved us many times. Many, many, many times."

"Got rid of one Graboid in a rec room!" Val announced. "That was the best of times."

The group chuckled over the reminder of the story.

"Where's Pops?" Travis asked.

"Come over kid." Val directed him to a chair. "A few hours ago, there was a chicken shit who put his head in the dirt and pretended there wasn't Graboids running around!" He twirled a hand in mid-air earning chuckles from the group. "You know how rich people get sometimes?"

"Yes." Travis nodded, slowly.

"Well this rich person wasn't alone and juiced up the Graboids." Val said as Doctor Welker sniffled.

"What?" Travis asked, alarmed. 

"Juiced them up." Val confirmed.

Travis became disgusted as he sat down.

"Where is Pops?"

"He is getting there." Earl assured.

"There was a kid who volunteered himself to lure the damn thing over the cliff like I did and Burt, the maniac that he was, shoved the kid aside and . . ." Val paused, his elbows on the table, reluctant to finish the next words. Everyone was quiet even Travis. "he was eaten."

His stomach fell.

"The Queen Graboid fell into a pit of poles that were rigged with explosive then they were gone in a massive explosion, the loudest explosion that I ever heard." Welker said. 

"You never heard loud, Dr Welker." Kate said.

"Less loud than his survival cave." Jodi noted with a chuckle.

"So much explosives." Jack said, on the edge of laughter.

Travis went pale.

"I bet that old man flipped the bird at 'em!" Val finished. "Just for spite."

Doctor Welker smiled.

"That's Burt for you." Jack said. "Always prepared to the very last moment. Sounds like he had a lot of fun in that cave."

"Was the kid here?" Travis said.

"He left hours ago." Val said. "He was shaken up, Post Traumatic Graboid Disorder. Worse than stress." he shook his head, grimly, in pity for the young man. "It's being prepared."

"Aye." The large crowd rose their drinks, slipped their masks down, and sipped and slipped up their masks again. 

Travis got up then made a dash outside leaving the door ajar. Cletus looked toward him in sympathy then toward the rest of the crew. Rosalita Sanchez, got up from the crowded table, leaving the side of the table that had Valerie -- Val's daughter-- then went out, quietly, and sat down along side Travis.

There was hardly a sound out there except for the one that was beginning to come from the young man. Travis was shaking with tears as his skin on his face became heated. Mindy and Nancy waited for the sound of El Blanco to pass at one of his expected travels into the night tearing through the town. But that never came. El Blanco was gone and so was someone who would never be forgotten on how to make a kill box; Burt Gummer.


End file.
